


there all is aching

by VeteranKlaus



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, post s1 no s2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26865037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeteranKlaus/pseuds/VeteranKlaus
Summary: It's 2019, and Dave is alive and living with Klaus. Everything should be good. Everythingisgood.So why does he feel so empty?
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz
Comments: 18
Kudos: 182





	there all is aching

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to the lovely Val for this idea, ily <3

It’s 2019, and Dave is alive.

It’s 2019, and Dave is living with Klaus.

It’s 2019, and life is - something suspiciously close to  _ amazing,  _ for him.

After an incident which involved a time-travelling thirteen-year-old boy, who apparently is older than Dave himself, he found himself with only a scar and an odd, aching pain in his chest in place of a bullet, and then he was whisked off to where a waiting Klaus was, who had sobbed into his newly healed chest for several minutes before he composed himself enough to be able to look Dave in the eye.

That was almost nearing a month ago, now. Things have changed; things have happened. Once he’d settled with the fact that he was now in the future, and had gotten used to Klaus’ super-powered, odd family, he’d gotten the chance to do things he thought he’d never be able to do.

(He had thought he was dead for good, after all. He remembered it all, even if the memories were a little patchy; but he could remember pain, and how hard it was to breathe, and he remembers thinking about Klaus. Remembers realising that, oh, this was it. He was dying. The future he and Klaus had always talked about was gone, now. That all shattered in this very moment, all those dreams they had, the things they’d talked about in whispers late at night; it was all gone. He remembered mourning the future he’d never be able to have. And it’s - it’s a little hard to move past such a close call with death.)

He and Klaus have a place of their own. Not the cottage on a farm that they’d spoken about, but an apartment in a busy, bustling city; but it’s still theirs, and he loves it anyway, of course. He can hold Klaus’ hand in public and the odd dirty looks they get are nothing compared to what he feared would happen in the sixties. 

He can sleep next to Klaus without fear of having to wake up and move before anyone could see them. He can laze in a warm, comfortable bed with Klaus in his arms for hours, and then they can cook breakfast together, Klaus pressed against his back and humming into his shoulder. They can go out to eat in restaurants together and they can go for walks together and kiss in the park when the streetlights make Klaus’ eyes sparkle in a way that makes Dave’s chest ache in pure adoration. 

It’s simply incredible. He’s living with Klaus, and the future is theirs, and maybe they’ll work up to that farmside cottage later; it doesn’t really matter. They have all the time in the world now. And it’s great.

Thing is, things aren’t perfect. Of course they aren’t, and he expected that. 

Klaus watched him die, of course. He has nightmares about it. He wakes up trembling and crying and running his hands over Dave’s chest again and again, and all Dave can really do is hold him close. Sometimes (a lot of the time) Klaus has other nightmares, and it goes much the same way; with Dave only able to hold him close and comfort him. 

It makes Dave feel horrible, honestly, witnessing Klaus like that. It makes his heart ache for his lover, who’s been through so much and still struggles with it. He wishes he could do more for Klaus; wishes he could have stopped anyone from ever hurting Klaus in the first place. He wishes he could make Klaus truly believe him when he tells him that he’s gorgeous, and incredible, and so smart and wonderful and brave and strong. He won’t stop telling him that, not even once he finally gets Klaus to believe that. 

He hopes though, that with time he will be able to help Klaus. He couldn’t stop bad things from happening to him, but he can be there to help him deal with it now.

But there are some things that Dave can’t really help him with.

The ghosts, for one. He knows Klaus has struggled with them for his whole life, and that he turned to drugs to cope with them because drugs got rid of them, and now he’s sober. (Which he is endlessly proud of him for, and never stops telling him how proud he is of him) but with sobriety comes the ghosts, and only Klaus can see them.

(Sometimes. Klaus’ powers have acted out a couple of times, only for a handful of seconds, long enough to give Dave a glimpse of screaming and disfigured faces. Only a handful of seconds, and it was too long. Klaus had to comfort him after the incidents because it left him so shaken up; but Klaus deals with that  _ all the time. _ He can only imagine how truly hard it is to deal with.)

So, naturally, this causes some problems, too. And despite the way Dave is  _ so proud  _ of him for his sobriety, he isn’t mad in the slightest when Klaus relapses. After seeing and hearing the ghosts for himself, even if only for a few moments, and with the knowledge that Klaus has been addicted for over a decade; it’s only understandable when he relapses. When Klaus stumbles home in the middle of the night after going missing, his pupils devouring his irises, stumbling over his words, body trembling so much he might as well be vibrating, spitting out slurred apologies and begging Dave to forgive him; of course he does. He never blames him for it, instead fighting off the odd judgemental look from his siblings, helping him through the withdrawals and promising him he isn’t mad or disappointed at all, and helping him get back on track. 

This is all to say that, despite being alive and living with the love of his life in a time period where not only is their relationship accepted (for the most part), but they could even get  _ married  _ and _ have children _ ; things aren’t perfect. That’s okay with Dave. He knows they have all the time they need, and honestly; this is better than he thought he would get. Things aren’t perfect, but he’ll work with Klaus when things get tough, and it’s still pretty damn incredible nonetheless. 

He’s alive, in 2019, with his boyfriend. He’s whole heartedly willing to help Klaus through every struggle he has, for as long as he needs and even longer. He loves Klaus, and he’s just so fucking happy to be by his side and to have a life with him. He wakes up with the love of his life in his arms, he gets to make Klaus smile every day, gets to hear the way he snorts when Dave makes him laugh too hard, he gets to watch cheesy movies with Klaus and eat so much he feels paralysed, and then fall asleep on the couch in a tangle of Klaus’ limbs and help massage the aches from his neck in a bath the next morning; and it’s fucking amazing.

Despite this, however, Dave finds himself… struggling, some days.

There’s this heavy weight in his chest, this hollowness to his bones, that he doesn’t quite understand. He finds it hard to tune into the world some days; finds himself spacing out, struggling to stay in the moment, even when the moment is dancing with Klaus to some new music on the radio. He finds himself staring out the window and watching the world go by and feeling as if he isn’t a part of it.

Despite having always been the ‘early bird’ out of him and Klaus, there are mornings where he can’t will himself out of bed. He holds Klaus close, perhaps a little too tightly sometimes, because he just needs to hold him or to be held. He goes out to buy ingredients to make dinner with him, coming back with a forced smile on his face, joking about how he’s still getting the hang of ‘self checkouts’ when instead he spent twenty minutes trying to learn how to breathe again in some alleyway because the streets are too loud and too busy and the buildings too tall and too bright and the world isn’t anything like it’s supposed to be; not for him. Because the world he lived in only existed forty years ago.

He loves Klaus, and he can easily see himself spending the rest of his life with him. He loves spending every waking moment with him; he loves Klaus, but he’s also his best friend. 

And his only friend. Because all of Dave’s friends are dead; even the ones who he didn’t see die on a battlefield. They’re dead, or they’re all old, with their lives behind them; with children, and grandchildren; they’re not the same person Dave knew a month ago. They probably wouldn’t even remember him. It’s a horribly lonely realisation. 

Some days, Dave simply feels lost. He doesn’t know the place he’s in, he doesn’t know anyone except the Hargreeves’. He doesn’t understand technology and how it even progressed to what it is now, he doesn’t understand today’s cultures, today’s politics, how the world has become what it is. He can’t make the connections of the world he knew to the world he’s in, because he missed on the way it progressed from one to the other. Despite how much reading he does to try and catch himself up on the world of today, he doubts he’ll truly ever understand it; not for years, at least. He’ll always live in a world that’s just a little too advanced for him.

He can recognise and understand these struggles. It’s only expected, honestly. Klaus understands his struggles too, and helps as much as he can; easing Dave into things, telling him about things that have happened, explaining how televisions morphed into paper-thin things hanging on walls, replacing billboards with electronic versions; explaining how something that had been purely out of the question for him in his lifetime, like gay marriage or adoption, had come around nonetheless, and that that’s the world he lives in now. He helps ease him out of the taboos of mental health and toxic masculinity that he hadn’t even realised were taboo or harmful or wrong, because that was simply the normal, acceptable life for him before. 

It’s just - it’s a lot. He knew that he might struggle to adjust, but he had severely underestimated the process. He didn’t expect it to hit so hard. He didn’t expect to feel so exhausted, or overwhelmed, or  _ empty.  _ He doesn’t even really understand it, either.

But that’s how he feels. He tries to stay optimistic and realistic. He isn’t necessarily ashamed to struggle to this new life, because he knows it’s understandable - but there are things, the things he hadn’t thought would be hard to deal with, that he doesn’t tell Klaus for reasons that might be dangerously close to shame, or embarrassment. Of course it’s expected of him to struggle with today’s politics; but why does he feel so damn suffocated and overwhelmed just walking down a street? He’s living his dream life with Klaus, but there’s this heavy sadness that weighs him down for seemingly no reason. 

Sometimes he struggles with the fact that he is living this life, though. Coming so close to death, with the absolute certainty his life was over; only to be suddenly (well, perhaps not suddenly, the healing process, although enhanced somehow by however Five treated him, still took days) alive again and living the life he’d mourned while he choked on his own blood. Sometimes he can’t shake that feeling. 

He shouldn’t struggle with these little random things, so he doesn’t mention them to Klaus. Plus, Klaus has plenty of his own struggles to deal with, and Dave - he needs to be there for him. Klaus doesn’t need to juggle Dave’s struggles on top of a decade’s worth of drug addiction and torment from ghosts; Klaus needs Dave to be there for him, and to be strong for him.

(He just knows, though, that if Klaus heard that train of thought, he’d lean forwards to cup Dave’s cheeks in his hands and give him another talk about toxic masculinity. But he doesn’t tell Klaus about those thoughts, so it’s fine.)

So, Dave swallows down these thoughts and these feelings. He leaves them for moments where he’s alone, or when Klaus is asleep.

(He finds himself sleeping less often. Stuck awake with his own thoughts, somehow horrifically exhausted but always unable to fall asleep or stay asleep. He just holds Klaus close and buries his face in his hair and ignores the unexplainable lump in his throat.)

He’s sure, anyway, that he’ll get over it eventually. He’ll get used to everything eventually, and everything will slot into place, and he’ll shake these random feelings, and the heaviness that plagues him every day and every night, and smiles and laughs will stop feeling so hard to conjure up. It’ll happen eventually, but for now, he’s busy with Klaus, and making sure his baby knows how proud he is of him for his new sober streak, even if he wasn’t any less proud despite his relapse. 

When he wakes up that morning, fighting to focus his eyes and find the energy to get up, he allows himself to curl closer to Klaus’ slumbering form; finding comfort in the feeling of his back against his chest, his curls tickling his nose, the steady rise and fall of his chest in sleep. He’s so happy to be able to have moments like this with him. Of course he is. 

Despite the fatigue weighing him down, he knows he won’t be able to fall asleep again. It’s frustrating, honestly, the way sleep avoids him these days, but the fatigue taunts him, makes it hard to focus and hard to find the energy to interact with the world, and it’s seemingly incurable. 

Klaus shifts in his arms slightly, and Dave loosens his embrace a little, enough so that when Klaus wakes up he can roll over to face him. His eyes are hazy with sleep when he opens them, voice a little raspy when he says good morning to him and nudges his chin with his nose. Despite himself, Dave smiles at the touch and closes his eyes. 

“Morning,” he mumbles back, head tipping forwards to lean against his. Klaus hums, wrapping his arms around his neck and melting against him with the high probability of falling asleep again. Dave is fine with that. It gives him a chance to lay in bed for a while longer, letting his mind go blank and empty, save for that cold heaviness, leeching comfort from having Klaus in his arms. 

He didn’t have a nightmare last night, he notes. That’s good. 

He’s almost sure Klaus falls asleep again. His breathing evens out, body completely relaxed, and he doesn’t say anything else. He takes the chance to bask in the feeling of Klaus’ arms around his neck, comforted by the embrace and fulfilling that odd, nearly desperate need to just be held. 

And then Klaus shifts, lifting his head a little and cracking his eyes open. He smiles, and he looks gorgeous like this, once he manages to bring his mind back from that empty limbo it goes to whenever he doesn’t focus on anything for a split second.

Klaus strokes his fingertips down one of his cheeks. “You look tired,” he murmurs gently. 

“I’m fine,” Dave says.

“I didn’t ask if you were fine,” says Klaus, voice oh so gentle. Dave sighs, leaning into his hand, and doesn’t bother conjuring up a reply. Klaus keeps idly stroking his cheek, touch gentle and light, and Dave finds himself drifting elsewhere to it until Klaus says his name.

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

Dave cracks his eyes open (when did they close?) to meet Klaus’ own. 

“What?”

“Are you okay?” Klaus repeats, gentle eyes shining with concern. “You’ve been… quiet, recently. I don’t know how to - to describe it, but… I noticed it. Is something wrong?”

“I’m fine,” he repeats, reaching to catch the hand on his cheek. “I’m just - tired.” It’s not a lie. He’s fucking exhausted. 

Klaus squeezes his hand, slips their fingers together.

“What kind of tired?”

Dave blinks.

“I - what?”

Klaus’ smile is gentle, hesitant, almost. “The kind of tired you can fix with a long lie?”

“I… I don’t know what you mean,” he says. Klaus sighs, and he sits up, tugging Dave up with him. 

“Are you happy here?”

Dave startles at the question, blinking rapidly. “Of - of course I am,” he hurries to say, squeezing Klaus’ hand. “I’m happy, Klaus. I’m with you.”

Klaus’ cheeks flush a gentle pink and he smiles. “I know, I know. But - it’s okay if you’re not, sometimes - no, no, listen to me, because I know you, Dave. I know you like you know me. And you’ve been quiet, and distant, and you always say you’re just tired. I can tell something’s wrong right now, too. I know you, Dave.”

Once he gets past his initial shock, Dave offers him a small smile. “I know you do,” he says. “But I’m fine-”

“You’re a terrible liar, Dave.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dave states. “Everything’s good right now, Klaus. I’m happy. I’m with you, and this is - this is amazing, and you’re doing so well lately-”

“You always say that,” Klaus says, and keeps going, cutting Dave off when he opens his mouth to talk again. “You always say that, and - first, thank you, but secondly - you don’t really talk about… yourself. Not lately.”

“Klaus-”

“I know, I know - you’re happy here. I’m glad you are. That doesn’t mean it’s easy though, right?”

A little hesitantly, Dave nods his head.

“So… it’s okay if you’re not. Okay, that is. You know that, right?”

Dave blinks. Echoes, “I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong, Klaus.”

“Nothing has to be wrong to feel bad, Dave,” Klaus tells him. He lets go of his hand to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at him and maintain eye contact. “Talk to me, Dave. Please. I know something’s wrong and I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t need your help,” Dave says without thinking. He hopes it didn’t come out wrong, but it’s true. He doesn’t need Klaus’ help. He’s fine, he’s more than fine, and Klaus doesn’t need to juggle Dave’s childish moods on top of his own struggles.

Klaus smiles, something a little sad. “Ever think that maybe I just want to help you anyway?”

Of course he does. Klaus is a good person; better than he thinks he is. He can’t muster up a response to him, though. 

Klaus runs his thumbs over his cheeks, his fingers curling around his head to stroke through his short hair. “Dave,” he says, voice gentle. “If something’s wrong, I’d like to know. Even if you think it’s stupid. You’ve been worrying me.”

“What?”

“I  _ know  _ you, Dave. When something’s wrong, you get quiet. You’ve been all quiet for days. I was hoping you’d come talk to me about it.” 

“I’m-” Klaus gives him a look, and Dave feels a sliver of guilt creep into his stomach. He hasn’t meant to worry Klaus, but - it’s true. Nothing’s wrong. He has no idea why he feels this way. He’s with the love of his life in a time period that won’t kill them for holding hands in public. He’s watching Klaus make progress with sobriety, knows that this is something new for Klaus, too, going from drug addiction and homelessness to having a steady relationship and a place of his own. They’re making a life for themselves, together. Dave  _ is  _ happy.

He just - sometimes, he just feels so horrifically disconnected from the world around him, and so damn tired and yet overwhelmed and - it’s just a lot.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Dave,” Klaus murmurs, and Dave’s last defences crumble. His eyes close and his head droops a little and he shrugs helplessly.

“I - I don’t know. Honest - I don’t know. Everything’s good, and I’m happy here, I just - I don’t know. I’m sorry-”

There’s a lump in his throat that he struggles to swallow around, a tension in his chest, and then Klaus’ hands are guiding him forwards until he’s leaning against him, head tucked beneath his chin. One of Klaus’ hands card through his hair, his other arm wrapping around his torso and holding him against his chest, and a shudder runs through Dave’s body. 

He feels lost, as if he doesn’t belong here; as if he doesn’t fit in this odd world around him, and he needs to be there for Klaus, but it’s hard, some days, to find enough motivation to even get out of bed, and he doesn’t know why-

Klaus hums gently, continuing to soothingly run his fingers through his hair. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, resting his chin on top of his head, and it’s oddly soothing like this - to just curl up against Klaus, to let Klaus hold him, something he was always too scared to ask for. 

“It’s okay to not feel okay, Dave,” Klaus says. “Even if you don’t know why. Even if everything’s supposed to be good. You don’t have to elaborate on it now, but it’s okay. You’re always looking out for me, always taking care of me - let me do that, for a change.”

Dave doesn’t have it in himself to disagree or deny Klaus that. He screws his eyes shut to fight back the infuriating stinging of unnecessary tears, and when Klaus guides him back down onto the mattress, back pressed against his chest, he follows easily, handing himself over to Klaus who seems to know just how to comfort him, how to make things a little more bearable. It’s not a cure to the dark heaviness plaguing him, but it relieves it, and it’s comforting to admit to Klaus that he’s not doing so okay - to confide in him, and to know that Klaus is there for him when he needs him too. 


End file.
